Statistics
by Oren-Namikaze
Summary: Memo #001 - Life is not to be viewed through rose lenses.


The last thing I needed this morning was two punk ass niggas hollerin' at me with the suave of howler monkeys. I don't understand how to take it. It didn't even occur to me until I had walked away that one of the punks had threatened me in the process. I've never been threatened in my life and I was nothing but nice to them! I really have to work on that. My first intuition is always to be nice to people. It's a fault. Another faulty crack in the rims of my rose colored glasses. Or contacts. But I don't wear contacts. Maybe I haven't recognized they were put into my eyes before I could remember. It's a part of me I'm torn about, clinging to my innocence, yet yearning the sharpness of tongue I lack.

I was in the park, walking my dog, when I realized the pair walking across the way on the other side of the garden. My intuition rang the alarm in my ears, earphones masquerading as an excuse to ignore people as I walk by. I should've listened, but instead I thought myself out of danger being on the wayside of the park by now and out of their general direction. I continued, a second thought in regards to my safety never passing my Sunday afternoon thoughts. I jerked at the sudden shout of, "Hey, wait!" right behind me.

"Hey, nice dog. Can I ask you a question? Do you think I could be a model?" Before me stood a tanned man of average height, wearing a do-rag, a black wife beater, and black basketball shorts. The cocky look on his face, along with the landing strip of a half-goatee below his lower lip, made my scowl deepen. His friend, fat with a closely shaven head, didn't appear any better, but his aura didn't give off the same cocky arrogance. _Did they REALLY come around the damn square just to talk to me? _

"I wouldn't know, I'm not in the industry," my eyes scrutinized their appearance. They definitely weren't from around here which was apparent from their attire. But then again, living downtown of a large city leaves you around plenty of bus and train stations to find characters like these in. I proceeded to continue walking my dog, hoping they'd get the hint and leave me alone.

"That's a nice dog. Dos he bite? Can I pet him?" his counterpart spoke up, making me cringe.

"Not usually." And of course my dog, as friendly as I naturally am, let him pet him with no qualms. Of course, I guess the other got jealous and had to run his mouth again.

"My friend was just asking me, 'If someone came up to you now and offered you twenty five thousand to model, would you do it?' and since I like your swag, I wanted to ask you."

_This is funny. He's hitting on me, isn't he? _ I really had to go, I was on my way to brunch and didn't have time to deal with this, "I honestly don't know. I have to go, though, sorry."

Again, I tried to walk away on the best terms as possible, hoping that they weren't as thick as I might've thought they were and taken the hint. I really didn't feel comfortable in this situation. It's not a common happening that someone has the courage to talk to me, much less be this blatant.

"Hey, girl, I'm tryin' to tell you I like your style! And I'd like to see it again sometime soon. Do you have a Facebook? I'd like to see more of our style," he kept on and on and on, taking steps closer, following my stride.

"Yes, I have a Facebook. I also have a girlfriend. I'm not interested." This guy was beginning to annoy me. I just wanted to get back to my apartment. I didn't have time to waste talking to him!

"Oh, so you're gay? That's cool! I'm in to that." _Oh why did I have a feeling he was the type to say that? _"What's your Facebook? Add me!"

My impatience was starting to boil over, but my manners still held my tongue in check. I might've been able to take this one on my own, but the second would make the risk of a fight a little more than I'd like to exert myself on. My reply came swift and curt, "No."

"Then give me your number so I can call you later!" His persistence in the matter was daunting. Again, my answer was swift and curt.

"No."

Apparently, he didn't take 'no' lightly because I felt the atmosphere immediately change, along with his body language which had turned into a frown adorning crossed arms around his chest. Just as immediate was my instinctive response with a tense hand and stiffened core.

"I get it. You have that lesbian I-hate-men thing going on," his tone had lowered, losing the playful quality it had held in exchange for a seemingly darker one. At this point I turned my body and attention towards him, my anger starting to surface, awakening what I'd hoped to be a sharp gaze. Ironically, if I did hate men it was because of those like him. I try not to make generalizations, but this was making it hard for me. At this point his friend must've picked up on my signals because I found he'd backed up away from us a few feet.

"I don't hate men, I don't like being approached. Thanks for your effort, though." I actually like being talked to, to be hint on, it makes me feel flattered and ruffles my ego. I chalk it up to being an awkward late-bloomer in high school.

"You have nice lips," the counterpart spoke up for once in the conversation.

"Thank you," my manners chimed. I'm not above thanking someone for a compliment; it didn't seem to be more than just that anyway. He posed no threat to me, so I posed no offense to his remark.

"Why don't we sit down and talk about this?" The initiator stepped closer to me, seemingly a bit annoyed as his friend, but gesturing to some seating nearby anyway. This was my breaking point. I didn't have time to deal with this! I was hungry and pissed and pressed for time which completes my bitch triad of trinities.

"I said, 'No!' I'm not interested, now GOOD-BYE!" The exasperation in my voice broke as I turned to leave once again. I wasn't in the mood to give the impression that he had gotten on my nerves. That would mean that I might've given a damn about something or that he had affected me somehow. I wasn't going to allow a two-bit wanna be player have that. Not from ME.

"Look, I'm gonna be around again sometime, ya hear? And you better treat me better or else I might have to become a woman beater and then lesbians'll really have a reason to hate me. And you better not hide away from me," he spat in my direction. My whirl around must've caught him off guard because he stepped back as I narrowed my eyes as his beady black eyes.

"I don't hide from anyone," I hissed back, giving the coldest glare I could muster. And as fast as I had turned on them, I pivoted around and walked away. For once I didn't get a response from either of them.

As I turned the corner to return to my apartment, I looked back to survey the area. The last thing I wanted was the creep knowing where I lived and hanging around the area. Thankfully I couldn't see any trace of them in sight.

As soon as I let my barriers down, the realization of my lack of emotions settled in the pit of my stomach. And this is where it led me, trying to come to terms with the realization that I was lucky – lucky that I could've been in a worse situation than the one I had found myself in. Lucky with the realization of how many dark nights and early mornings I had been in that same park, alone and unarmed as I had been then, sometimes without any means of communication. I thought of stereotypes and statistics on violence against women; would I now be included in those statistics? Had I not been as lucky as I had been in time and place… The sinking in my chest, the hollow, nervous anger that set a flood through me, overflowing as it reached my eyes, shook me in a foreign quake.

"That's why I don't like you going out looking a certain way, not without me. The way you look at yourself in the mirror? That's how other people look at you."

"But it shouldn't have to be like that."

"No, it shouldn't."

And I sit here, looking at the fragments as they break and tear, carried away with the stream down my cheeks. The stacks are getting higher. And we all fall down.


End file.
